


I'd change my name if I had one to change

by bluebells



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Bondage, Hairplay, Hand Kink, Incest, M/M, Technological Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-09
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is never a good time for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd change my name if I had one to change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emeraldembers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/gifts).



There was never a good time to come back into town and the town always changed.

They didn’t have a perfect hour when the mood settled just right, when Dante went through enough bottles to pretend it was having an effect and the time apart grew fonder before it felt like the blade’s edge of bitter sweet. Sometimes it was months. More often, it was years, but every time he crossed Vergil’s path, it felt like no time had passed at all.

This time, Dante found him in a broken telecommunications tower.

Dante thumbed the cut on his cheekbone and watched Vergil’s cool glare narrow as Dante sucked away the blood with a thoughtful hum, free hand winding the captured wires in his free hand. He heard glass crack as the cables forced Vergil’s head back against the wall of gauges and dials. They whirred and blinked at his back, glowing red and bleak in silver hair.

“You’re getting slow, old man.” Dante grinned, huffing inwardly when the glaze of Vergil’s expression remained unfractured. Unaffected.

He sifted fingers behind Vergil’s ear, ignoring his grunt (finally), and gently tugged a fist of it to ruin the halo and reflection. Vergil was a portrait of sharp control, clean lines, and nobody but Dante could weave between the polished arcs of his swords to get close enough to ruin him. Or so he liked to think.

The katana loosened at his back when Dante rolled his hips, pushing Vergil higher up that wall with the crush of glass under his coat, the punch of breath Vergil tried to stifle as his back arched, tendons standing in his neck, and Dante held his breath, fingers curling at his brother’s nape when Vergil pushed back down onto him, turning his scowl towards the hand in his hair.

Vergil’s breath fanned hot against the leather of his glove where Dante’s blood was still drying. The katana through the palm hadn’t stopped him, but Vergil would have known that. The wound had already healed. Teeth caught at the glove’s edge and Dante felt Vergil’s shiver even as his brother’s tongue pushed through the tear in a loose, hungry kiss, laving the glimpse of Dante’s palm.

This was the difficult part. Not when Vergil was outrunning him to unleash a new and better hell on Earth, and not when he was cleaving through Dante because he knew it just made him laugh. Dante chased faster. His flesh knitted without a mark.

Vergil turned his head away with a sneer when Dante ducked in to taste blood, sweat, and old leather on his brother’s lips, and it was _this._

Always, always this….

The growl rumbled low in his throat and he relished the answering snarl from Vergil the next time Dante shoved into him, biting the line of his jaw. It was worth it for the moment the familiar smolder turned on him (so angry and condescending, _Are you ready for this? You brat…._ ), Vergil’s forehead dropped to his, sliding with the thinnest sheen of sweat, hands straining against the web of cables, and Dante breathed in the heat of his exhale, feeling Vergil’s thighs clench tighter when Dante ducked in for that first kiss. Testing and chaste.

It was less than a second’s hesitation. Dante thought he stamped that hiccup out of the routine by now. And just like every time before, Vergil devoured the pause, biting into Dante’s mouth and making his jaw ache with the welcome, relentless drive of his tongue.

 _Like this. Do it like this: kiss me like you mean it – are you paying attention this time?_

Dante meant it. Oh, how he meant it.

He moaned, pulling Vergil’s short hair as their wet, open-mouthed kisses rolled together, and it was bliss, this hot slide against Vergil’s mouth and between his thighs that almost bordered on gentle when he wasn’t paying attention. Vergil was right. But Dante was paying attention now.

He hiked one of Vergil’s knees over his elbow, teeth caught his lip when Dante crushed him back, and, by the end, Vergil was trembling too hard to kiss him, cold anger breathing harshly into the cavern of Dante’s mouth as Dante rocked into him through his release.

Vergil’s tremors subsided as Dante kissed his face, his neck, his hands, and that was the final counter-tension in the wires that Vergil needed to work himself free.

“I meant it,” Dante said, but Vergil still left, like every other time.


End file.
